47 Ways to Kill Neelix
by E Chiove
Summary: Watching Neelix die. Repeatedly.


47 Ways to Kill Neelix  
  
by Dyslexic Moaner  
  
Disclaimer: If anybody who owns Neelix is reading this, and gets mad, you're just jealous because I thought of it first. So go ahead and sue me, but I'll put all $382.67 into hiring the WORST attorney in the country. So then, when you win, you won't have won ANYTHING. So, ha.  
  
So, I'll start with the most obvious, of course. Food poisoning.  
  
Tom Paris, pilot, gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as he walked through the crowded square with Neelix, Voyager marole officer (for lack of a better job description). Neelix was actually a furby masquerading as a Voyager crew member. Except with a furby, you can always pull out the batteries or throw it at the wall.  
"Let's stop here, Tom," Neelix interrupted his own story about being surrounded by 80 Klingon warriors in the middle of a desert, to point to an open doorway that led into a musty shop, lined with bottles of all colors and sizes.  
Tom Paris' eyes watched a tri-breasted female as she pointed out a bottle to a customer, explaining its uses.  
Tom blinked and tore his gaze away. Wrinkling his nose as he entered the gloomy room, he was reminded of the wine cellar that his cousin had worked at when Tom was 14. He had gone inside one morning before school, and had ended up backing up and tripping, landing in a spot where some wine had been spilt. Coincidentally, his teacher had called him up to the front of the class that day to draw an example of Newton's first law of motion on the whiteboard, with his butt to the class. Red wine on khaki. Nice. Good times. Neelix handed him a padd and sent him into a corner, telling him that all the bottles on the list would be there. Tom compared the symbols on the padd with the ones on the bottles. It was getting hot in the little shop. He rolled up his sleeves. The symbols swam in front of his eyes. These two match. He pulled the bottle off the shelf and stuck it under his arm. 2 bottles left to find. Neelix was over on the other side of the little shop. He had 4 bottles already and was reaching for a fifth. Tom cleared his throat and looked over the rest of them. He selected a pink-hued bottle that matched the third set of symbols. Now for the last one. "Finding everything you're looking for?" The female with 3 breasts asked.  
"Uh," Tom grabbed a clear bottle with what looked like blue milk from the second shelf. The symbols sort of matched, anyway. Close enough. He squinted at the label, wondering what the symbols meant. Unfortunately, the universal translator did not work on written words.  
Neelix was outside the shop, impatiently tapping his foot.  
"Yeah, I have everything. Where do I pay?" Tom kept his gaze on her face.  
"Follow me."  
She stood behind a counter and checked each of the bottoms of the bottles. She paused when she picked up the blue one.  
"Having trouble with your girlfriend, huh?"  
"Uh... what?" Tom asked, as he dug through his pockets in search of the currency Captain Janeway had given him.  
"Don't worry," the tri-breasted female winked, "My boyfriend uses this too. This will solve all your problems. Guaranteed aphrodisiac. Works on almost every species. What species are you?"  
"Uh... human. From Earth."  
"Never heard of it."  
"It's a ways away."  
"Well, this rarely kills anyone, unless you are allergic to Feconi."  
"Um, what's Feconi?"  
"I guess you don't have it on Earth, human."  
"No."  
"It's the lactate of Ranogs."  
"It's milk?"  
"Milk?"  
"Hurry up, Tom!" Neelix yelled.  
"Gotta go," Tom paid for the bottles and stepped back out into the light of day.  
"So, there I am surrounded by at least 100 Klingon warriors fully- trained in the art of combat," Neelix picked up where he had left off, "And all I have is a spoon and an Aurgalian compass, which is broken. The leader, Gargamok, is just about to kill me, when I say. . . . ."  
  
It was good to be back on Voyager. And it was good to be away from Neelix. He and Neelix had dropped everything off in the mess, and then Neelix had gotten a glint in his eye and begun mixing the bottles for dinner that night. Tom had left him and come back to his quarters to take a nap.  
  
Neelix mixed the pink stuff with the red stuff and added one of the bottles of yellow stuff. Adding garlic and setting it on the flame on the stove, he then turned his attention back to the untouched bottle. It was a small bottle with a foggy blue colored liquid inside. Neelix had never seen it before in his life. He pulled out the cork and sniffed it. It smelled O.K. He poured some into the Ranch salad dressing that was in a bowl in the fridge. (The dressing needed to be thinned down. Most cooks thinned dressing with plain milk, but Neelix, like all Talaxians, was fatally lactose-intolerant.) Despite giving the salad a strange hue, the blue stuff would work just fine.  
Neelix tasted the dressing quickly. Not bad. He poured it on the salad and mixed it up. Snatching a few pieces, he tested his new creation. Not bad at all.  
He turned around to check on the mixture he had placed on the stove.   
  
Tom Paris awoke with a start. Sliding off his still-made bed, he put on an undershirt and slipped his uniform on over his boxers. He jammed his feet into his boots and headed quickly for the door, while zipping up his uniform.  
His dream had been vivid. It was a memory from when the doctor had been trying to train him as a medic. Doc had handed him a padd.  
Tom glanced at the title. "Talaxian anatomy?" he asked.  
"We have one Talaxian onboard, Lt. Paris," Doc had said, "It's important you know how to treat him."  
"Talaxians are just like humans," Tom sighed, "Except hairier."  
"Au contraire," Doc said, "Talaxians have bigger tongues and less white blood cells. Therefore when vaccinating a Talaxian..."  
Tom's eyes had glazed over but he pretended to focus on the padd in front of him and tried to appear to be listening.  
"Mr. Paris, are you listening?"  
"Yeah."  
"OK, good. As I was saying, all Talaxians are lactose-intolerant because they only have one kidney and it is located..."  
Tom zoned out again.  
"Breasts," The doctor said.  
"What?" Tom brought his head up quickly.  
"I said, ''female talaxians do not lactate and therefore do not have breasts'," Doc repeated.  
"Oh."  
"Any questions?"  
"No. My shift starts in 5 minutes though so I had better go."  
Recalling, that conversation with Doc now, Tom rushed to the mess hall. He was not sure if Talaxian kidneys also could not tolerate Feconi, but he did not want to take that chance. If Neelix was gone, who would do the dishes?  
  
He burst through the mess hall doors and rushed to the galley. Lieutenant Torres had beat him there, however. She was staring down at the recumbent form of Neelix, Voyager marole officer.  
Tom bent down to check his pulse. He shook his head at B'lanna.  
"No pulse."  
B'lanna swore, "Now, who's gonna do the dishes?"  
Tom shrugged.  
"Oh well," B'lanna said, "Hey, this salad looks kinda good."  
Tom glanced at the bowl she was holding. He raised his eyebrows when he noticed the bluish tint of the salad. Feconi? He grinned. Feconi. The female with three breasts had said it was a natural aphrodisiac.  
"OK," Tom said, "Wanna eat in my quarters tonight?" 


End file.
